


Shades of You

by Caahs



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxiety, Art Student Sakusa Kiyoomi, Falling In Love, First Kiss, Fluff, Getting Together, Hinata Shouyou is Sunshine, Law Student Miya Atsumu, M/M, Mentioned Hinata Shouyou/Kageyama Tobio - Freeform, Mentioned Ushijima Wakatoshi, Miya Atsumu is a Little Shit, Mysophobic Sakusa Kiyoomi, Pining Sakusa Kiyoomi, Sakusa Kiyoomi is Bad at Feelings, Strangers to Friends to Lovers, Supportive Miya Osamu, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-11
Updated: 2020-10-11
Packaged: 2021-03-07 15:53:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26940205
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caahs/pseuds/Caahs
Summary: They say inspiration comes and goes in waves, the moment your eyes find home in a peaceful landscape or when your ears catch the sound of a soothing melody. Sakusa Kiyoomi thought inspiration was something constant that could be molded like clay in touch with his gloved fingers.He just didn’t expect it to be shaped into Miya Atsumu of all people.
Relationships: Miya Atsumu/Sakusa Kiyoomi
Comments: 40
Kudos: 506
Collections: ♧SakuAtsu Fics♧





	Shades of You

**Author's Note:**

> Here I am back with another Sakuatsu because one cannot be free from Sakuatsu brainrot
> 
> This is totally self-indulgent and I hope you enjoy it!
> 
> Thank you [@aalphard](https://twitter.com/aaIphard) and [@lettersinpetals](https://twitter.com/lettersinpetals) for supporting, helping and hearing me talk about this ♥

The first time Sakusa Kiyoomi laid eyes on Miya Atsumu, he deeply wished his brushes could be turned into knives as standing still seemed like an impossible task for the blond man who stood in front of about twenty Art students.

“Today we have a special guest from our university’s volleyball team since our current model had to cancel due to a few personal issues,” the professor announced as most of the students were taking their places and gathering their materials. “Please welcome and be nice to Miya Atsumu, everyone.”

Miya Atsumu walked inside the classroom as if he owned the entire building, with his head held high and a smirk that could be defined as anything but modest decorating his sharpened features. There was only a thin white sheet wrapped around his slim waist and the sunlight now crossing the windows caressed his skin and the fading yellow of his dyed blond hair to give him an almost ethereal glow.

“So, how do ya want me?” Miya’s Kansai-ben accent sounded raucous as it reached Sakusa’s ears and made him wince in annoyance. The blond stood in a small wooden pedestal and if he wasn’t the center of attention as he walked in, he was now as all eyes turned to carefully watch him. He had both arms crossed around his puffed out chest and was grinning as he had just won the MVP title.

As everyone else swooned and sighed due to the blond’s presence, Sakusa’s usual frown deepened. Undeniably, Miya’s body was one capable of tempting even the purest ones to sin, either by envy or lust. His muscles were well-defined and moved according to the smallest movements of his arms, chest, and legs. Characteristics that someone would expect from a volleyball player, though not all of them were vain enough to look like that.

“Feel free to choose a pose of your liking, Miya-san. I will ask you, however, to keep your arms away from your chest as it’s an important part of the anatomy they’ll be drawing.”

“Gotcha!” Miya looked at his feet, trying to find a comfortable position to stay still. “There ya go.” Miya breathed deeply as he settled both hands upon his waist and looked ahead to meet the other’s curious eyes for the first time since he entered the classroom.

Sakusa noticed Miya’s eyes widening slightly when they crossed paths with Sakusa’s stern gaze. He also became aware of how quickly that surprise was blown away by a gentle breeze that pushed his hair aside and gave place to a smug and seductive smile.

“I hope y’all manage to capture my amazingly good looks.” Miya brushed a hand through his hair, already changing his previous pose as he favored his weight on his left leg.

And his eyes never once left Sakusa’s.

According to most people, Sakusa was a very skilled artist. His attention to detail and the accuracy of his lines and colorful strokes of paint was what commonly caught people’s attention, who had always praised him for his works. Sakusa was a natural, they said, capable of portraying whatever came to his mind, from complex landscapes to expressive faces. However, no matter how perfect Sakusa’s technique was or how hard he studied about dozens of different styles, he usually found himself listening to the same critique in every canvas he created.

“Your work is amazing, Sakusa-san, but I think there’s a bit of passion missing from your pictures.”

Passion, a strong and barely controllable emotion. The main problem of those words and definitions stood by the fact that Sakusa was not a person considered to be expressive; his passive-aggressive eyes and solid frown never had shown any changes from the last ten or fifteen years.

Ever since Sakusa had been diagnosed as a mysophobic the world around him had drastically changed. He distanced himself from his previous friends and whoever was left of his family as the simple thought of their touch made him nauseous and trapped inside the frightening panic caused by his anxiety. Independency played a crucial role as he grew up and learned about his limits and how to live by himself. At first, everything felt like a challenge, every step and every interaction, but as soon as Sakusa was able to control his emotions and inner demons, the air around him become lighter so he could finally breathe properly. He made a few friends along the way, people who respected his boundaries and were always willing to help; Hinata, Wakatoshi and Motoya.

Yet, the feelings brought by his well-established friendships were not enough to ignite the unlit fire inside of his heart.

“Those who wear their hearts on their sleeves are bound to have it broken, Motoya,” Sakusa’s voice tried to calm his cousin from another heartbreak. “You should’ve learned that by now.”

“I know you’re worried, so thank you, Kiyo,” Komori brushed his tears away with his hands and smiled through the phone. “Call me a masochist, but in the end, I kinda like to feel that, makes me more alive.”

As Sakusa was still silent, Komori saw this as an opportunity to keep going. “Hey, Kiyoomi, don’t you think you deserve to feel like that too?”

“I don’t see how that would make any difference. You know I have feelings, I just don’t show them around like everyone else,” Sakusa tried to explain.

“Of course I know that, but why don’t you let yourself feel something stronger? To fall in love.” Komori gulped on the other side of the line, afraid to be overstepping Sakusa’s boundaries with his question.

Sakusa stared at the ceiling of his bedroom for a while, pondering how he could answer Komori’s question without sounding like an asshole. He sighed, opening his mouth once or twice as an attempt to let the words out, but to no avail. When he finally managed to give sound to his thoughts, his voice was small, almost a whisper as he pressed the phone even closer to his face. “I just never found someone who brought me that kind of inspiration.”

Now, the only inspiration Sakusa had was to flip his canvas and throw knives on Miya Atsumu’s shoulders and legs to keep him still. He wasn’t even able to finish his face as the blond couldn’t stop talking for a second. And Miya liked to talk with his hands; he moved them around like a bird desperately flapping his wings to live as the conversation constantly changed topics.

“Idiot, If you could stop moving for ten minutes so we can at least draw you, it would be great.”

What was originally meant to be a whisper now echoed through the spacious room as the previous conversations died down all of a sudden.

“Oh, am I moving too much?” Miya cynically said. “If ya wanna draw me that bad I’m sure a private session can be arranged.”

“Fuck you, Miya,” Sakusa’s voice, although muffed by the white surgical mask covering his lips, was clear enough to drag a smile out of Miya.

“Well, at least buy me dinner first, will ya?”

The professor interrupted them before the discussion went any further.

“Sakusa, please. Why don’t we all take a break and come back in ten minutes? Go on, drink some water, and then we’ll finish the class.”

Sakusa sighed tiredly, closing his eyes for a brief moment before focusing on finishing the lines of Miya’s half sketched body in front of him. The background noise from his classmates talking to each other increased, but it didn’t prove to be much of a nuisance to Sakusa’s concentration. With gentle strokes of his pencil - not charcoal, as it would stain his gloveless fingers; Sakusa slowly gave life to Miya’s form. As the outline was finished, Sakusa started to focus on the almond shape of his bright eyes, his thick darker eyebrows, and how loose strands of golden hair seemed to fall upon them every time he moved. Despite the obvious distaste Sakusa had initially felt towards Miya, he easily pictured him in his mind, not looking up once in search of Miya’s face.

His concentration was brutally shattered, however, by a shadow suddenly cast over his plain white canvas.

“So, Sakkun, why the mask? Allergies?” Miya casually asked, leaning into the easel with one arm, fingers occasionally brushing on the corners of Sakusa’s canvas.

“First, get your filthy arm and fingers out of my canvas,” Sakusa shoved them with the back of his pencil, avoiding to touch him directly. “Second, my name is Sakusa and I’d like to be called by it instead of whatever bullshit you came up with.'' Finally, he directed his eyes to Miya’s face, who didn’t seem surprised by the harsh words leaving Sakusa’s mouth. “Third, that’s none of your business. Fuck off.”

Miya whined as he heard the last sentence. “Now yer just being mean, Sakusa-kun!” His head and shoulders dropped down, a little discouraged by Sakusa’s tone.

“Can I see yer drawing?” Miya asked, but was already trying to peek from behind his hair.

“No,” Sakusa answered as he finished the lines of Miya’s neck.

“Can you tell me yer name? Yer first name,” Miya decided to shift his attention to Sakusa instead.

“We are not even acquaintances, therefore I feel there’s no need for you to know it,” Sakusa mumbled, getting more and more annoyed by each question that left Miya’s mouth. He was glad his drawing couldn’t speak or else he’d possibly develop a migraine right there.

“Are ya always this cold, Sakusa-kun?” Miya stood straight with an incredibly large smirk on his face.

“Do you always ask so many questions? What are you, a child? Actually, please don’t answer that.” Sakusa chuckled softly as Miya whined once again, yet he refused to believe he had found amusement in his conversation with the blond.

“That’s what people do when they’re trying to get to know other people.” Miya crossed his arms.

Sakusa turned his head towards Miya, not a hint of interest in his dark green eyes. “Well, I don’t want to get to know you, so feel free to walk the fuck out.”

“You know what? At least I’m tryin’ to be friendly and not an asshole. So fuck you, Sakusa.” Miya pointed a finger at Sakusa and practically marched his way back to his small pedestal.

“Oh, and Miya? Please try to stand still this time.” Miya simply flipped Sakusa off and worked on keeping his pose once again, or at least he tried to for half a minute before starting a conversation about volleyball with another student.

The class ended after almost an hour and despite the common disruptions caused by Miya’s high-pitched voice on Sakusa’s concentration, the sketch was almost successfully finished. Lines of different widths were precisely drawn and then crossed within each other in curves or straight dashes through the white canvas, giving a distinctive shape to Miya’s figure. Tiny details were still missing from the picture, like the faint expression lines on Miya’s cheeks, traces of his well-defined muscles, the callousness on his hands from tossing so many times; singular details that hadn’t passed unnoticed by Sakusa’s attentive eyes. He titled his head to the side, quietly observing the contrast between his lifeless drawing and the lively figure of Miya Atsumu now excitedly demonstrating how to perform one of his most recent serving techniques.

The background noise died down as the students left one by one, in pairs or groups. Sakusa, however, always stayed behind to make sure each of his belongings were clean and in their places; an unhealthy organization habit. He carefully picked up his drawing and placed it inside a plastic sleeve to avoid any kind of accident that would possibly ruin it. It was far from being a masterpiece and even farther from being finished, yet Sakusa treated all of his works like they were the ones being sold during a fancy exhibition. They were spotless and remarkable, something to be truly admired.

Sakusa carried the canvas under his arm and threw his black leather backpack over his shoulder to leave.

“Hey, Sakusa-kun! Wait a second!” He heard Miya’s voice echoing through his ears and increased his pace instantly. “Have some mercy with those legs of yers, will ya? It’s hard to walk when you have nothing but a sheet wrapped around yer waist.” Sadly their height difference wasn’t too evident, meaning Miya was more than capable of reaching out and matching Sakusa’s rushed steps.

“Class is clearly over, so you don’t have to wear that anymore,” Sakusa mumbled, the deep lines between his eyebrows letting Miya know how much he hated to be in his presence.

“Don’t ya think I’m a sight to see like this?” Miya grinned mischievously.

“Are you really that desperate for attention, Miya?” Sakusa asked rhetorically, barely paying attention to Miya’s outrageous sounds that soon came after. “Why are you still following me?”

“Just wanted to invite ya to our game this Friday. You seem like a guy who might enjoy it.” Miya shrugged, kicking a rock nearby and keeping his eyes glued to its movement.

“No, thank you. I’d rather water my plants than watch a bunch of barbarians running after a ball,” Sakusa politely declined, trying his best to not simply tell Miya to fuck off in the most straightforward way.

“Come on, Sakkun! Something tells me you’ll actually like it. Give it a chance, ya won’t regret it.” Miya raised a fist to bump it onto Sakusa’s shoulder playfully, but decided against that halfway through it when he saw how Sakusa visibly flinched. “I’m serious, just come. I’ll be waiting for ya,” he insisted.

Sakusa sighed, completely defeated by Miya’s incessant words. “I’ll think about it.”

“Great!” Miya picked up his phone from his duffel bag and cursed at the time. “Oh shit, I’m late for my civil rights class. See ya later, Sakkun!”

Sakusa brushed his temple with his fingertips and watched as Miya stumbled and almost let go of the sheet wrapped around his waist; the boy was a walking disaster and Sakusa couldn’t help but laugh at him behind his mask.

The sun shined bright upon the green grass that covered most of the campus, reflecting on the tiny water particles and making the sight even prettier to Sakusa’s critical eyes. If he focused on the sounds around him, birds could be heard chirping around the trees and bees buzzing through a colorful garden of yellow tulips. A warm breeze collided against Sakusa’s forehead and brushed part of his curly locks to the side, a silent whisper from nature itself, which was only devastated by the humankind talking excitedly over the stone pathways and narrow hallways.

As Sakusa approached his dorm, he almost crashed on his roommate who was about to leave in a rush, as usual.

“Sakusa-san, I’m so sorry!” Hinata waved desperately, checking if his hands had touched Sakusa and internally praying that they hadn't. “Practice will start in an hour but the coach asked me to come earlier today,” he explained. “I cleaned the bathroom with that thing you always use, so you can go ahead and take a shower if you want to.” Hinata smiled widely with his teeth as a set of wrinkles made their way through his face and settled on the corners of his now closed eyes.

“Thank you, Hinata-kun,” Sakusa nodded and gave him space to go.

“I’ll bring you some umeboshi after practice, Sakusa-san!”

Although Hinata seemed to be a little careless and hyperactive, he was actually one of the best roommates Sakusa ever had - and he could say he already had a few of them. He respected Sakusa’s space most of the time and was willing to follow Sakusa’s rules regarding the tidiness and neatness of their room. At least he tried to, Sakusa thought as his eyes landed on Hinata’s wet towel casually thrown over his bed.

Hinata’s loudness was compensated by the fact that he spent almost all of his time outside, either busy with volleyball practice or with his boyfriend, Kageyama, who was a professional player for a Division 1 team. The kid was a prodigy and Hinata made Sakusa promise to never tell Kageyama about his dream of playing beside him, though it was obvious to anyone who saw them together. Hinata’s eyes shined brighter around him, he looked more alive when Kageyama’s name was brought up; absolutely everything seemed better with him.

And Sakusa refused to acknowledge something as useless and irrational as the jealousy he felt toward their relationship.

Sakusa left his shoes by the door and walked inside the room, sighing tiredly and moving his hands to his face to remove the mask previously covering his mouth and nose. He inhaled deeply, feeling the citric scent of the disinfectant Hinata indeed used to wipe the bathroom tiles, and his shoulders dropped upon recognition. The familiarity of it made his whole body relax, his anxiety gradually slipping from his long bony fingers and falling like grains of sand. The silence trapped with him was calming instead of stifling. It was all far from being home, but it was the closest Sakusa could get to it at the moment.

With no more classes until later in the afternoon, Sakusa stared at the nearly finished canvas sitting on his desk and allowed his thoughts to wander freely. Miya’s image was nauseating and intriguing at the same time, as mismatched pieces of an unresolved puzzle. His gaze, although black and white and not being directed at Sakusa, seemed just as colorful and penetrating. It was a spontaneous act, how Sakusa swiftly removed the plastic sleeve covering the canvas and reached for a pencil to give the drawing the details provided by his mind.

The noise from the graphite brushing against the white surface was nothing compared to the deafening sound of Miya’s voice echoing inside Sakusa’s mind like an unwanted catchy melody.

Sakusa lost himself for a moment, completely wrapped around the lines being drawn and Miya’s image committed to his memory. His grip around the pencil tightened and he huffed angrily as he erased the details of Miya’s face for the fifth time. He knew something was not right, but he couldn’t exactly pinpoint what. Were the wrinkles on his forehead misplaced? The crooked smile? The shape of his eyebrows? The angle of his eyes? His cheekbones? His neck? His collarbone? Frustration filled his lungs as more air was dragged inside and Sakusa ran a hand through his hair. He tapped the back of his pencil on the table, not noticing his legs were also just as restless.

Sakusa’s eyes were closed as he rested his face on his hands. Suddenly they were snapped open and the pencil was once again in between Sakusa’s skillful fingers. One, two, three, five, ten lines were traced, then Sakusa felt satisfied as he stared back at the drawing with a small tug on his lips. There at the canvas stood Miya Atsumu with his disheveled light blond hair, colors which only Sakusa could see, and a wild strand falling on his forehead. He looked younger, handsome even, if Sakusa dared to think so. A blessing for sore eyes and a curse for the living. And still as annoying as ever.

The track of time had been lost and Sakusa ended up missing the lunch he had agreed to have with his cousin. Despite being together since their childhood and through all three years of high school, Motoya didn’t follow Sakusa’s steps to university, deciding to become a professional volleyball player instead. Needless to say, the time they used to share had been drastically reduced since their paths diverged.

Sakusa picked up his phone from the bedside table and there were a couple of missed calls and messages from Motoya.

**From: [Best Cousin]**  
_Alright, apparently you’re too busy with a painting right now so I’ve asked the restaurant to deliver some donburi and just leave it at your dorm. Make sure to send me a picture of it too!_

**From: [Best Cousin]**  
_You owe me one now, Kiyo ;)_

**To: [Komori Motoya]**  
_I’d thank you if you haven’t changed your contact name for the fifth time this month. Still, I appreciate it and I’m sorry about missing our lunch_

**To: [Komori Motoya]**  
*picture attached*

_And it was just a drawing_

**From: [Komori Motoya]**  
_Wow, drawing handsome guys now, huh? He’s certainly different from the usual models since you never pay too much attention to their faces. I’ll ask about him later, I have to go!_

Sakusa huffed and put his phone down. The easiest thing to do now would be to ignore Motoya’s undying curiosity about a certain Miya Atsumu. He couldn’t help but think about his cousin’s words, though. Sakusa didn’t usually draw portraits in general as it was a challenge to decipher people’s emotions and capture them with only a pair of lines and a few colors. A smile wasn’t enough to tell someone was happy just as tears running down someone’s cheeks didn’t necessarily mean they were sad. That’s why Sakusa never bothered to draw people’s faces, especially during anatomy classes, which were there for a whole different set of purposes. Yet, expertise wasn’t needed for one to realize Sakusa had paid special attention to Miya’s facial features; his hair, eyes, nose, eyebrows, and lips.

His face was deeply scrunched in pure disgust as he looked at the drawing once again. He rolled his eyes and pushed all of those horrendous thoughts aside. The only thing different about Miya Atsumu was his ability to drive Sakusa absolutely insane with two words spoken in a rushed and not at all attractive Kansai-ben.

After Sakusa had his lunch, which was obviously delicious; Motoya knew him too well, he walked to one late afternoon photography class, something Sakusa freely chose to be in his schedule for selfish reasons, a hobby he sometimes found himself indulged in. They studied the fundamentals of lighting and its effects, yet no explanations seemed to matter as Sakusa’s mind was settled on showing him lively examples from this morning when the sunlight crossed through the windows and tenderly touched Miya’s skin, his figure burning bright in Sakusa’s eyes. When class was finally over, there was an almost unnoticeable doodle in the margin of Sakusa’s notebook, a pair of almond-shaped eyes staring right back at him as a result of his wandering thoughts.

Sakusa felt his phone buzzing inside his jacket and reached for it on the way back to his dorm.

**From: [Unknown Number]**  
_Heya, Omi-kun!_  
_Have you had dinner already? Wanna eat something after practice?_

**To: [Unknown Number]**  
_Who’s this?_

**From: [Unknown Number]**  
_Oh, it’s Atsumu!_  
_Hinata gave me your number ;)_

Sakusa mumbled a pair of curses and swore to himself he would make Hinata scrub the bathroom tiles until they were utterly spotless and shiny.

**To: [Annoying Miya]**  
_No_

**From: [Annoying Miya]**  
_:(_  
_Don’t forget about Friday!_

The umeboshi Hinata brought didn’t make Sakusa any less displeased by what he had done, but somehow it helped him to ease the tightness settled around his shoulders. Hinata knew he had screwed up and it showed in his wide eyes how sorry he was feeling, terrified of meeting Sakusa’s cold gaze. After the tenth apology - Sakusa was actually counting, he sighed.

“It’s fine,” Sakusa said, louder than he meant to. “Stop apologizing already.”

Honestly, Sakusa thought Hinata’s innocence had been disrupted by Miya’s filthy intentions, a person who was used to getting everything he wished for, no matter how. The end justified his means. A devil disguised in an angelic costume ready to go after his next victim and there was nothing anyone could do to stop him.

“It would’ve happened sooner or later,” Sakusa mentioned nonchalantly, relieved to see Hinata raising his eyes from the floor for once.

“Thank you, Sakusa-san! And by the way, I really think you should come to our next match! Atsumu-san and I have been practicing a lot of different plays. There’s this one that goes like…” Hinata was also a person who spoke with his hands, waving them desperately from one side to the other. He explained it all excitedly, as if nothing bad had ever happened between him and Sakusa.

The rest of Sakusa’s week was a turmoil of annoying text messages and mindless invitations to go out. It wasn’t really necessary to look at his phone whenever it vibrated to know that it was probably Miya sending him another gif of a funny-looking animal or asking Sakusa if he was free for the rest of his day.

Besides his photography hobby, Sakusa wasn’t much of an active person; he had only a few friends and his closest one didn’t even go to the same university as him. Plus, he would rather stay at the dorm then go to a party filled with filthy and sweaty people. But those were things Miya probably didn’t need to know about.

Despite his best attempts to avoid him, Sakusa felt trapped inside an infinite chain of messages. He tried to seem as cold as possible, offering Miya blunt and monosyllabic replies and never engaging in deeper conversations. Unfortunately, that hadn’t stopped Miya from wishing him good morning each and every day.

Sakusa had no idea he could learn so much about a person in four days of constant text messages. Apparently, Miya was a law student because he wanted to be as successful as his twin brother, Osamu, who hadn’t even finished culinary school and already owned an onígiri restaurant. However, Sakusa knew that the real reason behind that was because Miya wanted to bring justice to those incapable of defending themselves against the system. And he knew that after Miya had drunk texted him one night after practice. Miya also loved volleyball, he played it through high school with his twin and they were the best; Sakusa said he doubted that and received one loud and obnoxious audio of Miya whining like a child who just got scolded by their parents. Miya was also vain, the incarnation of Narcissus itself. Sakusa’s gallery was full of pictures of the blond and the rest of the volleyball team, which included Hinata, Yaku, and Wakatoshi.

The thing that surprised Sakusa the most was not the number of messages but the fact that he found himself reacting to each of them with a scowl and sometimes a small and secret smile. He could’ve ignored them, yet he chose not to since that would’ve been rude. Or that was just another lousy excuse to keep replying to Miya's texts.

Although Sakusa told Miya he wasn’t interested in his match, by the time Friday finally arrived, Sakusa found himself exiting his dorm and heading straight to the small gymnasium inside the campus. The place was not completely crowded, but it was definitely filled with more people than Sakusa was used to dealing in his daily classes. The university’s mascot, a colorful peacock, was dancing in the court as the players were still debriefing inside the locker rooms. There was loud pop music blasting through the speakers and the smell of greasy food traveled through the air. Everything made Sakusa’s stomach swirl in nausea, yet he breathed in deeply and decided to stay.

As he looked around, Sakusa was able to find a spot with not many people around; it was a bit distant from the court, but Sakusa couldn’t care less about that. He reached for a pack of disinfectant wipes inside his jacket and cleaned the place before sitting down.

The moment his eyes returned to the court, he caught sight of a familiar shade of orange hair jumping through the court and doing a few warm-up exercises. Right beside him stood the cause of Sakusa’s constant annoyance, Miya Atsumu. His back flexed under the striped black and blue uniform as he stretched his arms in front of him. The white number 7 stamped on his jersey contrasting nicely with the dark colors surrounding it. His eyes scanned the crowds as if he was looking for one person in particular and Sakusa saw his shoulders dropping when he clearly didn’t find who he had been searching for.

Sakusa had no idea what to expect from Miya, all he knew was that he was the team's setter and people considered him to be one of the best. Even Wakatoshi complimented his skills once or twice, so that had to mean something.

It happened so quickly Sakusa thought it was a magic trick triggered by a snap of Miya’s fingers. He saw him moving toward the end of the court, the ball securely held between his hands. With each of Miya’s steps, the previous cacophony of sounds seemed to diminish more and more. By the time he reached his destination and turned to face the opposite team, the whole court had been embraced by a discomforting silence. The crowd held its breath as Miya released the ball and sent it flying to the ceiling. His rubber shoes squeaked against the polished floor and two distinct slams echoed through the walls, one from Miya’s hand perfectly hitting the ball and the other as it loudly hit the corner of the opposite team’s court.

Miya didn’t go for the crowd as Sakusa expected him to do. He smirked, that usual smugness dripping from his lips like a coral snake’s lethal venom, and kept one hand raised, waiting for the high fives that he knew were about to come. His eyes, however, were focused on the ongoing match, absent of all the playfulness that was once there and burning with a mischievous yet serious kind of fire. And they kept illuminating the corners of his sharpened features throughout the entire match, not shaken by the breeze or by a streak of points from the other team. The challenge to come up victorious was nothing but fuel to Miya’s flames, food for the insatiable hunger that traveled through his brain.

There at the court stood a different kind of Miya Atsumu, one Sakusa hadn’t had the chance of meeting until now. He was still loud, but passionate, his words of encouragement heavy with the number of emotions overflowing through them. His movements were precise and each toss had a well-thought strategy behind. A singular unstoppable beast aiming for his prey's jugular vein.

Sakusa felt his heart skipping a beat or two at the sight. His own eyes seemed indifferent, but there in his gut sat an uprising of sensations, a certain kind of warmth never felt before. He couldn’t focus on anything else as the remaining plays became blurred, as nothing else mattered but Miya’s figure standing proudly on the court and then guiding his team to another victory with expertise.

When the match point was scored and the tension slowly dissipated through the air, Sakusa released a puff of air, unaware of how long he had been holding that inside his lungs. His hands were visibly shaking with excitement and he blinked a few times to regain control of his tumultuous thoughts. Flashes of the match were still playing inside his mind like scenes of his favorite movie, starring Miya Atsumu as the main actor.

Sakusa took a deep breath, waiting for the people to leave before he did. He adjusted his mask around his nose and shoved his hands inside his jacket’s pockets as he walked. Once he left the gymnasium it was already dark outside, a chilly wind howled and gently caressed Sakusa’s face as he squinted both eyes to the sky in search of a few scattered stars. Their light was scarce and the moon was nowhere to be seen, nothing like the light he had just witnessed coming from a certain volleyball player a few moments ago.

His back hit the gymnasium’s walls and he allowed his eyes to close, quietly listening to people’s comments about the match until a loud voice made its way inside his attentive ears.

“Omi-kun? Is that you?”

Sakusa’s gaze met Miya’s instantly. His blond hair was down, dripping wet from the shower he probably took after the match.

He looked younger and curious about Sakusa’s presence. “Ya really came after all!” Miya smiled and adjusted the strap of his duffel bag as if he didn’t know what to do with his hands now that a volleyball was not between them.

“You played well, Miya,” Sakusa said before walking away. His heart was beating loudly against his chest and he felt stupid for waiting outside just to tell Miya that.

“Wait!” Miya quickly caught up with him, showing up in front of Sakusa and walking backward. “We won, so the team is going out to grab a drink. Wanna come too?”

“No,” Sakusa answered straight away.

Miya sighed in defeat, even though he felt victorious.

“So ya said I played well, huh? Does that mean yer finally recognizing my incredible skills?” Miya smirked, and if his chest puffed out a little, he barely noticed.

“I already regret ever saying that to feed your massive ego,” Sakusa shook his head and stared coldly at Miya’s face.

Miya chuckled and turned to walk beside Sakusa as a normal person would. He knew Sakusa’s words meant nothing, so he chose to laugh about them instead.

“Yer a funny guy, Omi-Omi. We should hang out more.” Miya braced his head with both hands and purposefully stepped on Sakusa’s foot. “Sorry ‘bout that.”

He didn’t sound sorry at all and Sakusa knew that.

“I’d rather die,” he replied bluntly, frowning at the footprint of Miya’s sports shoes on his own.

Sakusa’s ears bled as Miya let out an obnoxious whine. “Stop being so mean to me, Omi-kun!”

“Consider this payback for waking me up in the middle of the night with your dumb texts,” Sakusa hissed and stopped when he realized they had reached his dorm. “Shouldn’t you be with your teammates celebrating or something?”

Miya hummed. “Yet I chose to walk with ya since I’m a gentleman.”

Sakusa huffed. “Of course you are.” Sarcasm flowed from his words like a river, drenching an unprepared Miya.

“Oi! I’m serious!”

Sakusa turned around, crossing his arms leisurely and holding Miya’s cheerful gaze. He watched curiously as a faint shade of pink colored Miya’s cheeks the moment their eyes met. Miya looked at the ground beneath his feet and brought a hand to the back of his neck feeling suddenly shy under Sakusa’s dark eyes.

“I…” Miya cleared his throat as the words got stuck. “It made me happy,” he mumbled. “The fact that you were there. I’m happy you came.” Miya stumbled on his words, the previous blush now growing warmer and spreading to his neck and collarbone. His pointed canines were pressed on his bottom lip and Sakusa stared at them, especially when Miya ran his tongue through the recent bruises.

“Good.” Sakusa was glad there was a mask hiding his face from Miya or else he would see the tiniest smile creeping through his mouth and breaking his solid expressionless face.

And Miya’s ego didn’t deserve to be fed twice on the same day.

“Good night, Miya,” Sakusa turned and unlocked the door, not daring to look back at the blond as he took off his shoes and walked inside.

The last thing he heard before closing the door was a faint whisper passing through his ears, lighter than a morning breeze and gentler than a flower petal against his naked skin. “Night, Omi.”

If Sakusa thought his life had turned into a nightmare after Miya appeared, from that day on, Sakusa’s whole world turned upside down. It wasn’t due to Miya’s incessant messages, which suddenly turned into audios and random calls at night, or to how often Sakusa had started to see Miya’s face in every hallway. In fact, Sakusa had been living through hell and he was the only one to blame for that. Ever since that match from a month ago, all of Sakusa’s thoughts were directed at a pair of shiny amber eyes and loose strands of ashy blond hair. Miya’s figure was committed to Sakusa’s memory, tormenting his days and being the cause of too many sleepless nights. Every time Sakusa closed his eyes he would see Miya, his playful smirk and boyish looks, a plague that had spread through Sakusa’s cells and taken control of his body and mind.

Unconsciously, Sakusa’s drawings and paintings had a common theme; they were all about volleyball. He drew empty stands, the delicacy of a net separating two sides of the same court. He painted a spinning volleyball, a service ace, sweaty blond locks moving according to the captured moment, strong arms raised in a victory pose.

And yet, even if Sakusa’s paintings were not about volleyball at all, there was clearly something different about them; something Sakusa’s eyes failed to notice but everyone else seemed to see. His professors were the first ones to mention how Sakusa’s works looked so much better than they were because Sakusa had decided to put his heart on them. Then came Hinata, who accidentally caught a glimpse of Sakusa’s drawing and his eyes got impossibly larger.

“Sakusa-san, that drawing is so pretty! I never saw you drawing a portrait before, but it looks really cool!” He pointed at the black and white woman Sakusa had drawn using charcoal.

It was a project from one of his classes, to draw a scene from the last movie he had seen. Sadly, Hinata had forced Sakusa to watch The Notebook with him last week, which resulted in a lot of tears and a fancy drawing of Allie drenched by the pouring rain expressing all of her frustrations to a non-existent Noah. Her eyes were sad and the blurred shadows Sakusa managed to do with the charcoal in his hands made the drawing look like an actual picture.

He got a ten and a very nice compliment from his professor for that work.

Motoya was next. The one who had always received Sakusa’s drawings and paintings with a smile on his face. Only this time he had something else to say.

“They’re great, Kiyo! Even better than your other works, not that they weren’t good, but now your paintings are more expressive? I don’t know, I feel they are talking to me.” Motoya said as they spoke through a FaceTime call.

Sakusa would never admit so but he actually missed Motoya’s presence. He had been traveling a lot with his team recently due to the start of a new season and barely had time left to call Sakusa.

“I’ve been getting that a lot lately,” Sakusa mentioned.

“Is there anything you want to talk about? Did something happen? You’re acting kind of weird since that volleyball match.”

Sakusa sighed deeply as he knew there was something Motoya wanted to ask but lacked the courage to do so. “Just go ahead and ask whatever you want.”

“How’s Miya-san doing?”

Sakusa frowned. “Good, unfortunately. And as annoying as ever.”

“I see,” Motoya seemed apprehensive for a reason Sakusa didn’t know. “You’ve been acting differently since he came around. And your drawings look prettier.“

“Your point?” Sakusa raised one of his eyebrows.

Motoya chuckled, hiding his smile so that Sakusa wouldn’t see it. “Nothing!” He waved both hands in front of the camera. “Just saying, Kiyo.”

Although Sakusa looked suspiciously at Motoya, he nodded in agreement. “Right.” He paid close attention to Motoya’s eyes as they were now filled with something akin to compassion.

“You know I’m always here if you ever need to talk, right?” Again, Sakusa nodded, not risking to use words as Motoya always managed to make him more emotional than usual. “Great! I guess I’ll go get some sleep now, tomorrow we have practice early in the morning,” he yawned and stared quietly at Sakusa’s face. “I miss you, Kiyo. Sorry I’ve been busy.”

Sakusa huffed and smiled sadly. “Don’t apologize for that, it’s fine,” he said. “Sleep well, Motoya.” Sakusa was glad Motoya knew him enough to understand his expressions when the words simply refused to leave his mouth.

There was a secluded place inside the campus only a few people knew about where a lonely cherry blossom tree stood in front of a pond. Each rosy petal that fell created a new hypnotizing circular motion of waves. A wooden bench was where Sakusa sat before dusting it off with a clean piece of cloth he kept inside his pickets for safety measures. Although they had no clear scent, Sakusa felt as his surroundings were filled with lavender, a flower that had always managed to calm his jittery nerves. Sakusa had been there many times before when his lungs prayed for air and his thoughts simply refused to settle down. Needless to say, the spot had become Sakusa’s favorite since that volleyball match. All of his frustrations seemed to float along with the falling cherry blossoms; no more trembling fingers, no more shuddering breaths, no more panic attacks, and no more Miya Atsumu.

A taste of peace and quietness after the storm, which unfortunately had only lasted for another week.

Sakusa was returning to his dorm after spending all his afternoon snapping pictures of birds for his photography class, a lesson that was supposed to teach them about how to use the camera focus. He was satisfied with his photos but felt exhausted from being on the outside for that long.

When the door was opened, Sakusa found a familiar face sitting by his desk and looking at his drawings. His face turned and Sakusa’s breath hitched as he felt the oxygen being taken from his lungs by the cause of his misery.

“Hi, Omi-kun!” Miya greeted him with a small wave. “Nice seeing ya around here.”

Slowly, Sakusa took off his shoes and jacket, deciding to keep his mask on for now. “You do realize this is my dorm, right?”

A chuckle left Miya’s lips. “Yeah, Hinata said I could wait for him here as he had a few things to take care of, but I’m pretty sure he’s just busy with Kageyama, if ya know what I mean.” His dark eyebrows wiggled suggestively and Sakusa’s nose twisted in disgust.

“Gross.”

“They probably did it here too, Omi-Omi. Better get used to that idea,” Miya said as if it meant absolutely nothing to him.

Sakusa’s eyebrows twisted and his frown seemed to only deepen. “Shut up, you’re definitely not helping.”

“Just sayin’ the truth.” Miya shrugged and his curious eyes wandered around, stopping by the drawings on Sakusa’s desk a couple of times before bringing up the topic he was clearly dying to talk about. “So, ya like volleyball, huh? That’s a nice drawing.” He picked up one of them, a silhouette of a player spiking the ball in a perfect parallel. “You do seem like someone who plays since you’ve got, you know, the height and the muscles,” Miya moved his hand around following the length of Sakusa’s body.

“High school,” Sakusa mumbled. “I used to play in high school as a wing spiker.”

Miya’s eyes widened as they were ignited by Sakusa’s words. “That’s pretty cool, Omi-kun! Why did ya stop?”

The room was embedded in silence for a few minutes and Sakusa quietly unhooked the mask from his ears. His eyes shifted to Miya’s face briefly, but then returned to his work upon the desk. “I found something I liked more than volleyball, I guess.”

“And here I was hoping I’d toss to ya one day,” Miya laughed softly, a puff of air making its way out through his nose. “But yer good at it, the drawing thing.”

Sakusa watched as Miya pointed the drawing at him, as if he wanted to give it back to Sakusa. “Keep it,” he said.

Strong arms wrapped themselves around the thin paper sheet and Miya faked a sob. “That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me, Omi. I’m touched.”

“You had your filthy paws all over it, there’s no way I’m taking that back.” Sakusa snickered.

Miya’s jaw dropped as he listened to Sakusa’s evil comment and almost let go of the drawing in his possession.“Yer a jerk, Omi.”

“Takes one to know one,” Sakusa smirked, a sight Miya had the honor - or displeasure, he wasn’t sure yet; to see for the first time.

Since the day Sakusa found Miya inside his dorm, the blond’s visits had been more constant. At least once a week, Sakusa found himself in Miya’s presence. He didn’t talk much, letting Miya fill what previously was a comfortable void. He wasn’t fond of meeting new people and getting to know them better, yet there he was, encouraging Miya to speak and engaging in deeper conversations from time to time. It was inevitable, no matter how much Sakusa tried to escape from that vicious grip, an invisible pull that guided him back to Miya whenever he looked away; as opposite sides of different magnets

Sakusa expected Miya to be a synonym of chaos; dirty shoes and even dirtier habits, a person who didn’t know the meaning of personal space and lacked decency overall. He was surprised, however, to realize Miya was nothing like he imagined him to be. His shoes were always by the door, he washed his hands as he walked inside, even asking to shower once he had arrived straight from practice. He never once tried to get close to Sakusa. He was still loud, undeniably, but he knew how to talk like an adult on rare occasions. He was full of himself, but he had his own insecurities.

It was like meeting Miya Atsumu for the second time. No more masks and no more hiding behind a foolish façade.

And yet Miya had never asked.

“Mysophobia.”

Miya was lying down on Hinata’s bed, playing with a volleyball and listening to the music coming from Sakusa’s phone as he painted.

“Huh?” Confused, he asked.

“The first time we met, you asked about my mask. I have mysophobia.” Sakusa mumbled without looking away from his painting.

“Oh,” Miya blinked twice, the ball was completely forgotten by his side as he sat. “Yer fear of germs, right? I thought it was something like that.”

The brush Sakusa had been holding stopped moving, making a bigger stain of green paint in his canvas. His previous serene expression darkened slightly. “Did Hinata tell you?”

“What? No,” Miya shook his head. “Ya don’t think I’m very smart, do ya, Omi?” He smirked. “You flinched when I tried to touch ya on the day we met.”

“I’m sorry. I usually don’t-” Sakusa started to say, but was rudely interrupted.

“Who’s sayin’ ya owe me any apologies, Omi-Omi? You should never apologize for being who you are. That’s okay.”

Sakusa could feel the back of his neck burning, not only from Miya’s gaze but also from his words. His heart was beating so loud inside his chest that Sakusa was afraid that Miya would be able to hear it from the bed. His head was hanging low now, chin almost brushing against his chest as he stared aimlessly at the color pallet in his hands. A thousand different thoughts were running through his mind at the same time, he couldn’t focus and lost the ability to speak for a few minutes. He was panicking, drowning in the echo of Miya’s sentence like it had been his destiny all along. Why him? Why did Miya have the capacity of shattering his mind like it was made of porcelain?

Why was he the one who made Sakusa feel something?

A snap of fingers caught Sakusa’s attention. His eyes were wide the moment he met Miya’s. “Ya okay, Omi-kun? Thought I lost ya for a minute there.”

Miya’s hand was near his face, not close enough to trigger his aversion, though. Sakusa looked at it, noticing how Miya’s hand was larger but his fingers were shorter. His hand seemed clean, not a hint of sweat lingering on his skin.

The moment Sakusa noticed he wanted to touch Miya’s hand, he stood up abruptly and locked himself in the bathroom. He breathed deeply and washed his hands three times before unlocking the door.

They didn’t talk about it.

Miya Atsumu was a curse Sakusa couldn’t get rid of.

Worse than having nothing but thoughts of volleyball for a month was having constant thoughts about Miya Atsumu. He lingered on the corners of Sakusa’s brain, showing up when it was least expected of him and throwing Sakusa’s sanity to the wolves. His presence made Sakusa antsy, even though he seemed collected on the outside. Sakusa’s heart quickened its pace and his palms were disgustingly sweaty when he was around. Sakusa thought those reactions were only temporary, a slip from his mind regarding that recent so-called obsession. However, the longer he felt engrossed by Miya, the greater was the intensity of his emotions. They were suffocating and yet Sakusa found himself slowly getting addicted to them, like the sweetness embedded into those caramel eyes he was so deeply fond of.

Uninvited, Miya invaded his pictures and his dreams, and suddenly there were no more cheerful days or peaceful nights.

It started with a stain, nothing but a brush of light yellow upon the whiteness of his canvas. However, the paint started to cascade down on the empty space to form a blurred image; a lock of hair, a penetrating gaze, a dazzling smile. Soon, these same colors were limited by invisible lines in order to be shaped into clothes, muscles, cheekbones and expressions. Sakusa had given up on trying to tame his wild thoughts, choosing to indulge in them instead. He jumped into the abyss and willingly decided to drown, succumbing to anything and everything related to _him_.

Now, there wasn’t a single art piece from Sakusa that didn’t have a clear image of Miya Atsumu looking right back at him.

“Omi-Omi, how come ya never showed me yer paintings or yer drawings?”

Miya earned his place on Sakusa’s bed after a lot of insistence and arguments about the questionable cleanliness of Hinata’s. He was laid down on his stomach, resting his head on both crossed arms as he watched Sakusa working on his photographs.

“You see them all the time, Miya.”

“Not true! You’ve been hiding them from me lately,” Miya shook his head and started to search for something under Sakusa’s bed.

As Sakusa heard the rustling noises, he turned his head. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“Searching for yer works.” Miya squeezed his eyes as if that could make him focus and the tip of his tongue was pressed on his bottom lip while he groped the floor underneath him.

“Stop with that nonsense,” Sakusa said with a voice slightly louder than usual, letting show part of his despair. “I’m serious, Miya.”

Miya was kneeled beside Sakusa’s bed, peeking under it like a child playing hide and seek. He looked from one side to the other and his eyes grew larger as he spotted something similar to a small notebook in the distance, near the wall. “Found it!”

The sound of Sakusa’s chair scratching the floor was instant, a loud screech that echoed through the thin walls of his dorm. “Miya, give me that.” He asked for it with a trembling hand.

“I will after I take a look at it.” Miya sat on the bed with the notebook in hands, ready to go through its pages and finally sacciate his undying curiosity.

“Miya,” Sakusa’s voice quivered as he took a step closer. “Please.”

The sincere pleading tone of Sakusa’s words was what convinced Miya to look up. He never thought there would be a day when he would see such an honest emotion plastered on Sakusa’s face. His eyes were wide and Miya could see his chest moving desperately. And his hand was still there, visibly shaking in front of Miya’s face and waiting for the notebook in Miya’s possession.

Miya sighed and placed it on Sakusa’s hands. “Yer no fun, Omi-kun. I don’t understand why ya got so worked up because of a couple of drawings.”

When Sakusa’s fingers finally closed around the book’s cover, he allowed himself to breathe properly. Everything was going to be okay, he thought, Miya didn’t find the drawings and the notebook was now safe in his hands. There was nothing to worry about.

Yet by some trick of Ate, the Goddess of mischief, or simply due to just a pinch of bad luck, as Sakusa turned his back to Miya, a single unattached paper sheet fell from where it belonged. Sakusa watched in slow motion as it escaped from his grasp and floated silently until it reached the floor next to Miya’s feet like a gift delivered especially to him.

Miya tilted his head to the side, frowning as he stared at the drawing, trying to recognize such familiarity. “Is that…” He picked it up carefully, still not trusting what he was seeing, as if it was all part of a dream. “Is this me, Omi?”

There in his hands was a flawless drawing of himself.

The black lines were a little messy and faint signs of what probably was Sakusa’s sketch could be seen. Miya’s hair was styled but had a few loose strands falling on his forehead. He had both hands draped on his waist and a proud smile decorated his sharpened features as he looked to the side. Miya could tell he was wearing his jersey though there was a nítid lack of color; the v-neck and the stripes gave it away. What was most impressive, however, was how Sakusa managed to draw details that even he wasn’t aware of, like the tiny wrinkles around his eyes and forehead, the shape of his nose, the secret mole he had near the corner of his mouth, that almost imperceptible flaw in on his left eyebrow, his cupid’s bow, the well-manicured hands. Miya wouldn’t be surprised if that was in fact a picture from Sakusa’s camera.

“Omi, that’s…” Miya was at a loss for words. “That’s beautiful.” His jaw was slacked while he tried to gather enough courage to look at the man who managed to capture him like that.

A loud thud indicated that the notebook previously in Sakusa’s hands had slipped and now faced the cold floor.

Miya reached for it without further ado and suddenly he felt inside a house of mirrors since all the pages were filled with more and more of him and nothing else.

“Get out.”

The notebook was closed and placed on the bed as Miya stood up. “Wait, Omi,” he moved a hand in Sakusa’s direction and saw as he snickered.

“Don’t touch me,” Sakusa hissed.

“Omi, I wasn’t going to. Just let me say something.” Miya asked, silently pleading for some understanding through his eyes.

“Get the fuck out, Miya.” Sakusa turned around, refusing to look at Miya one more time. His whole body trembled, filled with unsettling anxiety that only seemed to increase with each and every second. The room felt like a cage, too small and too suffocating, and there was barely enough oxygen to fill his lungs. He stumbled before reaching the door and opening it widely. “I won’t say it again.”

“Is that it? Ya filled hundreds of pages with my face and won’t even let me say somethin’ ‘bout it?” Miya’s accent grew heavier as his frustration was intensified.

Sakusa stood by the door as a statue, emotionless and blank, enough to be called a marble sculpture. He stared at Miya like he was the dirt under his expensive shoes, an insect flying around, nothing more than a burden in his life. His eyes were cold and dark, pulling Miya in like a black hole. No more words left his lips, which were now forming a thin and tight line.

“Silence treatment, Omi? That’s fuckin’ low even for you.” Miya ran a hand through his hair, tugging at it while a groan left his throat. “Ya know what? Fuck you, Omi.” He practically spat on Sakusa’s face after diminishing the distance between them.

Those were the last words Sakusa heard from Miya before he walked away from his dorm and possibly from his life.

The next day, it rained.

A cry from the skies as water fell from the darkest clouds. The wind crashed against the canopies’ greenery, blowing away their colors and undressing their branches with the strength of a mild hurricane. No birds were chirping that morning, no sounds except for the deafening noise of the rain and its thunders. Some used to say rain was a blessing, a sign of renewal and a gift from the Gods, a symbol of plentiful crops and good prospects yet to come. Others, however, believed the rain was nothing more than wrath, a tool in the Gods’ hands used for punishing humanity for their behavior and their sins. Sakusa thought of the rain as an inconvenience; puddles splashed against his shoes and wetted his socks, places became more crowded and people’s immunities more fragile, which increased the amount of infectious diseases around him. The rain meant Sakusa had to walk with an umbrella to shield him from the droplets that pierced his skin like acid. It meant he couldn’t visit his secret place in order to breathe.

That day, Sakusa watched as the rain fell on the classroom’s window and finally understood why some people considered it sad. An uncomfortable feeling blossomed in his gut, an itch that couldn’t be scratched and made his eyebrows twist for not understanding why this was happening to someone like him.

The same feeling had spread through Sakusa’s body like cancerous cells during the following weeks. It consumed his available energy and rendered him tired, unmotivated. It left a hollow space inside his chest as if a part of him was truly missing.

There were no more signs of Miya; no messages, no pictures, no random appearances inside his dorm. Sakusa saw him once at the cafeteria and Miya barely spared him a glance, walking straight by him. He looked good, but Sakusa couldn’t help but notice the dark circles under his eyes and the lack of honesty in each of his smiles.

When Sakusa caught a glimpse of his reflection after Miya left he saw a man overwhelmed by obscure fears and anxieties. A man afraid to let somebody else inside and who chose to run instead, thinking it would be easier. No matter how much he tried to hide or push them away, the feelings Sakusa had for Miya refused to go. He knew they were there, a lingering presence in his mind, yet he kept them in the dark instead of exposing them to the light. Sakusa thought that was the right thing to do, the only option that wouldn’t lead them both to a natural disaster. It would start with a crack caused by Sakusa’s trust issues, which would turn into a hole due to their lack of communication and grow to the size of a crater thanks to Sakusa’s touch aversion. The earth would continue to crumble between them until they stood on opposite sides of the Grand Canyon. No amount of bridges would ever be enough when Sakusa simply wasn't the person Miya needed. He was the kind of person who deserved morning kisses while still tangled up in sheets, fingertips running through his hair and descending to his face, neck, chest and waist, tight embraces when it was cold, whispered ‘I love you’s in his ear at least three times a day. Miya Atsumu deserved to be loved.

And Sakusa wasn’t sure he was capable of giving him that kind of love.

He was on his bed, pretending to be interested in his book when Hinata came back from practice.

“Hi, Sakusa-san!”

Sakusa nodded back and secretly watched Hinata throwing himself on the bed like a lifeless puppet without strings. They traded a few glances and Sakusa could practically see the smoke coming out of Hinata’s head. He had been acting like that for a while now, afraid of asking but dying to know the reason why Sakusa seemed grumpier than usual and why Miya wasn’t around anymore.

A sigh left Sakusa’s lips. “You look constipated. Just spit it out, Hinata.”

The boy jumped and made a mess of his duvet as he tried to sit still. He scratched the back of his neck nervously and his eyes widened suddenly, a light bulb turning on above his head. His hands searched for his duffle bag until they found what they’d been looking for. A small package of umeboshi and a flyer.

“Uh, Ushijima-san asked me to give you this. He hasn’t been seeing you around much and told me to make sure you were okay. They’re sanitized and I took a shower before leaving practice, I swear! ” Hinata offered him the items. “And this,” he pointed at the flyer, voice oscillating slightly. “That’s a funny story actually…”

Sakusa would have to thank Wakatoshi later for this. He placed the fruits aside and checked the colorful flyer in his hands. Splashes of paint colored the white background in bright yellow, blue and red while big black capitalized letters made their way through. It was a save the date for an art exhibition inside the campus three weeks from now and apparently, the ones providing the art pieces would be the students. To say he hadn’t heard about this would be a lie and Sakusa had even been asked to participate with an entry of his own; a painting, drawing or even just a picture.

He missed half of Hinata’s speech while he paid attention to the flyer instead.

“...and then Ushijima-san really believed him and told me that I should give you this in case you forgot about it. That’s the reason why my bag is full of flyers right now.” He opened it wide and Sakusa huffed at the dozens of copies stuffed inside such a tiny space.

After three minutes of silence, Hinata cleared his throat. “Can I just say something, Sakusa-san?”

“Sure.”

“My grandma used to paint a lot. I remember all the times I went to her house and she was in the back, circled by flowers and humming a song while she painted. She looked really happy when she was there, but one day I saw her crying while she used her brushes. I asked her why she insisted on painting like that and she told me that people who create art do it best when they’re overwhelmed, that’s when they truly put their hearts out and turn simple things into beautiful ones,” he smiled fondly at the memory as he spoke. “So what I’m trying to say is that maybe putting your feelings in a painting might make you feel better. It might help you express yourself, right?” Hinata offered Sakusa his larger grin, all teeth and no shame.

Sakusa hummed in response and placed the flyer inside a drawer.

“I’ll think about it.”

By the time the lights were out, Sakusa was still awake as Morpheus’ sands didn’t seem to extinguish the bubbling energy inside his mind. Unconsciously, the corners of Sakusa’s lips started to raise and part of the dirt he had been carrying around his shoulders moved away as a hint of light shined through his previous dark surroundings.

Atsumu was a boy who thought he had everything life could ever possibly give him. A supportive family - Osamu was part of them too although he refused to admit it; loyal friends who stood beside him no matter what, a good scholarship and a sport he had learned to love within time. He never thought someone would simply walk into his life and show him that there was something Atsumu didn’t have, something he always yearned for but wasn’t aware of, something he never knew he needed to finally feel complete.

Sakusa Kiyoomi invaded Atsumu’s life like a hurricane, a disturbance in his atmosphere. The strength of his winds destroyed Atsumu’s solid structures like it would do to an entire village. His gaze was enough to take all the air from Atsumu’s lungs and make a mess of his every thought. His words were solid and blunt, knives being painfully carved inside Atsumu’s heart, yet he yearned for more of that kind of bleeding. Sakusa was addicting, worse than any kind of illicit drug. He made Atsumu’s world spin with his intoxicating presence and Atsumu found himself always coming back for more.

Unaware of how or when exactly, Sakusa crawled his way into Atsumu’s established routine. He was there from the moment Atsumu opened his eyes until he closed them again.

He noticed the small but significant changes in Sakusa’s attitudes toward him. The way he answered his texts with more than just one word, how he accepted Atsumu’s night calls even if they woke him up, the small but ever so pretty smiles when Atsumu showed up inside his dorm. Atsumu thought he was slowly solving the puzzle that was Sakusa Kiyoomi, peeling his layers one by one to reach the man hidden inside.

But whenever Atsumu got too close, he was punctured by Sakusa’s brittle, fragile spines.

And when Sakusa pushed Atsumu away from his life, the wound was deep and the pain from it excruciating. No matter what he did, there was no healing, no way to put the pieces of his shattered heart back together, no way to mend paper when it had been torn. He didn’t talk about it for days, ignoring the burden until it swallowed him whole. Soon the pain became too much and it got in the way of his studies and his volleyball. Atsumu was cranky, acting more like a jerk than usual. He was as unstable as nitroglycerin, all it needed was one jolt for him to spontaneously blow up.

So Atsumu did what he always used to when things went south.

“Hey, ‘Samu.”

“Somebody’s having a bad day, huh?” The sound of ruffling sheets caught Atsumu’s attention.

“Did I wake ya?”

Osamu snorted. “Not that you care, but no,” he paused. “What’s up? Who’s got ya in a bad mood?”

“How do ya know I’m in a bad mood? I could just be callin’ ya to say I won the MVP prize or somethin’” Atsumu faked a cheerful voice but it was clear that it didn’t fool Osamu.

“I’ve been listenin’ to yer stupid voice since I was a toddler, ya dumbass. I’m yer twin, I know when yer sad,” Osamu said. “Besides, if ya had won that title I know I’d be the first to hear the news.”

“Ya think yer that special, ‘Samu?”

Osamu could see the grin on his brother’s even though they weren’t seeing each other. He rolled his eyes to that.

“If I wasn’t ya wouldn’t be callin’ me now, ain’t that right?” He chuckled when Atsumu whispered something that sounded like an insult and his name. “I don’t have the whole night, ‘Tsumu. Just tell me what’s wrong.”

“It’s Sakusa,” Atsumu mumbled. “We fought last week, actually I wouldn’t even call that a fight. It was more like him aggressively askin’ me to get the hell out of his life?”

“What did ya do, ‘Tsumu?”

“Fuck ya, ‘Samu! Why do ya always think I’m the one to blame?” Atsumu frowned angrily at his phone.

“‘Cause from what ya told me ‘bout that guy, it’s a miracle ya haven’t fucked this up ‘till now.” Osamu seemed completely unaffected by the fluctuations in Atsumu’s voice.

“Well, believe it or not, I’m not the one fuckin’ up things now. We were just hangin’ ‘round his dorm like usual and I asked to see his drawings, ‘cause I told ya he’s been hidin’ them from me lately. So I did a little search under his bed and found a notebook,” Atsumu took a deep breath. “‘Samu he was desperate, even begged to have that back, which I did ‘cause I’m a nice person.” Osamu laughed out loud at that. “But a loose page came out somehow and ended up right in front of me.”

There was silence on the line until Osamu spoke up. “So ya looked.”

“Of course I did! And guess what was the drawin’ ‘bout?”

“Let me guess,” Osamu hummed but the answer to that question was already too obvious. “You. He drew ya.”

“Yes!” Atsumu yelled as he threw his head back onto his pillow. “How did ya know that?”

“‘Cause why else would he hide the drawings from ya, idiot?” Osamu chose to ignore Atsumu’s outrage. “What happened next?”

“He freaked out and asked me to get the fuck out of his dorm. I tried to get close and say somethin’ but he hissed at me to not touch him. I swear to ya I wasn’t goin’ to, ya know I respect his limits!” Atsumu’s voice got louder, as if he was on the verge of crying.

“I know, ‘Tsumu. I know,” Osamu swallowed bitterly. It hurt him to see Atsumu like that.

“Now he’s gone, ‘Samu. I can’t believe I fell for a guy like that, how stupid am I?” Atsumu whined, his face already wet by a pair of unstoppable tears.

“Very stupid. Ya always fall for the ones ya can’t have,” Osamu said truthfully. “But I think he likes ya back, just give him time, ‘Tsumu. Try to be patient for once in yer life. Ya scared him off so ya need to let him get to ya now.” Osamu could hear faint sobs on the other side of the line.

“What if he never comes back?” Atsumu whispered with a fragile and weak voice.

“I think he will, ‘Tsumu. Just wait.”

After much insistence, Hinata managed to convince Atsumu to join him on a visit to the grand open-air art exhibition everyone had been talking about. It was being held near the gymnasium so maybe that was Atsumu’s excuse for accepting that invitation, an easy escape route in case he grew tired of it. People were thrilled to see what the students from the Arts department were capable of doing. Paintings, drawings, photographs, and even a few sculptures drew everyone’s attention. Ones were there just for the fun of it - like Atsumu and Hinata since they didn’t know shit about art. There were others, however, like Ushijima for example, who spent hours staring at the same boring art piece trying to figure out the artist’s intentions and the feelings lurking behind their works.

Atsumu was feeling nervous and he knew exactly why. Hinata had told him that Sakusa was working on something for the exhibition, although he didn’t know what since he was not doing that in the dorm like he always used to. Just the thought of seeing Sakusa’s art brought shivers down Atsumu’s spine. He had never seen them, not when they were finished, but if a simple sketch left him speechless, he wondered what something Sakusa had put a lot of effort into would be able to do. Maybe it would make Atsumu’s heart stop beating or his knees to give in, that was Atsumu’s guess.

They walked around, surprised with the beauty of some pieces and laughing at some that were clearly meant to be funny. Hinata pointed at something far in the distance, where about twelve people were gathered around, whispering in awe at each other’s ears.

“That one looks promising! Let’s go see it, Atsumu-san!” Hinata reached for his wrist and dragged him through the small crowd.

When they arrived, all eyes turned to them, more specifically at Atsumu. The art piece was yet nowhere to be seen thanks to the number of people around it. Despite his undying love for being the center of people’s attention, Atsumu felt uncomfortable with so many eyes staring at him. He shifted on his feet, unsure of what to do or even say at a time like this.

The words being whispered, however, made him freeze on the spot.

_“That’s him, isn’t it?”_

_“It looks just like him!”_

_“It has to be him, they’re identical!”_

_“Isn’t that the guy from the volleyball team? The setter?”_

Atsumu made his way through the crowd desperately. His head spun as a thousand different thoughts suddenly appeared and his whole body seemed to move even faster; heart pounding, chest expanding, palms sweating. He thought he was mentally prepared to face whatever was standing there on the other side.

But nothing could’ve possibly prepared Atsumu for that.

The first thing Atsumu noticed were the colors, so bright they vibrated under his eyes, like a watercolor painting. He could see the black shorts and his striped jersey, the white number on the back creating the contrast he used to see during practice. His sun-kissed skin could be seen in his neck, face, and arms captured up, moments before a toss. What caught Atsumu’s eyes were none of those but the many different shades of yellow disposed in front of him. There was the light tone of his hair, the blinding one of the volleyball next to his hands, and the whole golden aura that seemed to overflow from Atsumu’s pores. The artist must had been blind by the color since it was everywhere, as passionate about it as Van Gogh.

The painting was far from being just a mess of colors, though. Atsumu never knew a painting could show so many details about a person’s face and yet there he was, staring at his own wide wicked grin and the faintest wrinkles decorating the corners of his eyes.

His eyes, yes. They held no secrets, only warmth, passion, and hunger. The caramel of his shining irises was about to melt from such a burning gaze aimed at the volleyball above. That Atsumu made volleyball look easy and fun but also a challenge to be faced. He chased the ball with a certain delicacy, like he was flying to reach it and then make a flawless toss.

The blurred background forced everyone’s eyes to look at Atsumu and only him as if from the artist’s perspective there was no one else he could or even wished to see.

“Passion,” Hinata read the painting’s title out loud.

Atsumu opened his mouth a couple of times, but no words came out. He moved a hand at the painting’s direction and without touching it he followed the lines of his hair, shoulders, and waist. When he reached the bottom there was a stylish signature, because obviously Sakusa Kiyoomi was the type of person that had beautiful handwriting.

“Wow.” Hinata was just as impressed by the painting. “Is that how Sakusa-san really sees you?”

Atsumu’s hands fell to his sides and gently he placed them on Hinata’s shoulders, eyes still fixed on the painting. “Shouyou-kun, I need to go to my dorm real quick and then I’m going to find Omi.” He blinked quickly and tried to steady his discomposed breathing. “Yeah, that’s what I’ll do,” Atsumu said, patting Hinata’s arms twice before letting him go.

“Wait, Atsumu-san!” Hinata yelled the moment Atsumu started running. “I know where he might be.”

The sun was about to set, tainting the sky with a mixture of pink and orange. The different hues reflected on the water and its waves made them look even prettier. Although there was no wind, a few cherry blossoms fell from the tree next to him. Sakusa closed his eyes in search of peace as there was a raging storm turning his insides upside down. He had caved in to his wildest dreams and darkest feelings to free him from that curse. It didn’t haunt him like his own shadow anymore, but sometimes he wished it did. Sometimes he heard his voice when he was asleep and saw his face by the empty hallways. Sakusa craved for him, a forever burning fire that couldn’t be extinguished, a desire to touch and be burned.

Miya Atsumu had been his inspiration for too long. Far more than just a muse for his works, he inspired him to feel something deeper, to fall in love so deeply he reached the point of no return.

And now that Sakusa had made up his mind, there was nothing else to do about it.

He heard footsteps carefully approaching him and then that voice traveled until it reached his eyes.

“Care to tell me why there’s a breathtaking painting of me in that fucking exhibition, Omi-kun?”

Sakusa held his breath as Atsumu’s steps were getting louder. “Do I have to?”

He felt Atsumu’s weight falling on the spot right next to his. Sakusa could feel his warmth through his clothes, the minty fresh scent of toothpaste coming from Atsumu’s mouth as he spoke.

“You owe me that much.”

They were close, one move to the side and Atsumu’s thighs would brush his. There was a different kind of anxiety slowly creeping through his body and making his hands tremble. Instead of a repulsive one, this begged him for attraction.

“I think I like you,” Sakusa said bluntly.

Surprisingly, Atsumu laughed. He dried the tears threatening to fall and turned his face to properly look at Sakusa. “Ya think?”

“Unfortunately, I’m pretty sure I do.” When Atsumu whined, Sakusa realized how much he missed that sound.

“Then why did ya push me away, Omi?” Atsumu sounded hurt.

His Adam’s apple bobbed and Sakusa felt his throat dry. He leaned his back on the bench and met Atsumu’s gaze. “I’m not very good at this,” he confessed. “I wasn’t sure of what I wanted and I freaked out.”

The tension between them was tangible, one more push and it would break. Atsumu’s teeth were gnawing on his bottom lip and Sakusa’s fingers were fidgeting. The air around them seemed thinner, getting harder and harder to breathe.

“Are ya sure of what ya want now?”

Sakusa’s movements were tentatively unhurried. He reached for Atsumu’s shoulder, pressing his fingertips into his jacket one by one and allowing his mind to get used to that tingling feeling. Sakusa released the breath he had been holding and his fingers traveled the path down Atsumu’s arm. He felt his muscles through his clothes as he touched him, the warmth seeping through and now caressing Sakusa’s cheeks.

When he reached Atsumu’s wrist, Sakusa paused. One inch forward and there would be no more fabric between his fingers and Atsumu’s skin. Sakusa asked himself if he was ready for that if the butterflies in his stomach would finally take flight. With a certain effort, he took his eyes from Atsumu’s hand and focused on his face instead.

There was a hint of a smile in his eyes as he slid his fingers into Atsumu’s hand and watched as he gasped. Electricity ran through their veins already drunk on adrenaline and Sakusa shivered. The pain he was expecting never came, so he decided it would be fine to keep going. He traced the lines on Atsumu’s hand; the heart, the head, and the life ones, and felt the tiny callousness on his fingertips.

“Yes,” Sakusa said. “Do you want this?”

Atsumu closed his hand around Sakusa’s and intertwined their fingers tightly. “It’s all I’ve been wanting for months, Omi.”

“Kiyoomi,” he corrected him.

“Does that mean you’ll stop callin’ me Miya?” Atsumu grinned and brought their hands to his cheek.

Kiyoomi huffed at Atsumu’s stupidity. “I’ve stopped thinking about you as a Miya a long time ago, Atsumu.” He separated their hands to touch Atsumu’s lips tenderly. They were a bit chapped and bruised from all Atsumu’s previous nibbling.

Atsumu’s eyes were fixed on Kiyoomi’s mask, on the place his mouth was. “Would ya run away if I told ya I really wanna kiss ya right now?” He felt the weight of Kiyoomi’s fingers as he spoke, kissing them softly right after.

“I’m still here.” Without taking his eyes from Atsumu’s face, he unhooked the mask and placed it in his pocket.

Fascinated by the features of Kiyoomi’s face, Atsumu was rendered speechless. His sharp jaw, the tiny moles scattered through his cheeks, his pointy nose, the dark green eyes that pulled him in every single time, the two perfectly aligned moles covered partially by a lock of black curly hair on his forehead.

“Yer beautiful, Kiyoomi.”

For the first time, Atsumu saw Kiyoomi blushing, rosy cheeks intensified by the twilight in front of them. It was the most endearing sight he had ever seen.

“Kiss me,” Atsumu whispered against Kiyoomi’s fingers, still lingering on the corner of his mouth.

Kiyoomi’s touch was soft, almost like he was afraid Atsumu would break if he pressed any harder. He treated Atsumu like he was something precious, with a certain tenderness none of his previous lovers had. Atsumu felt the ghost of Kiyoomi’s shaky breath on his nose and his heart started to beat incredibly faster.

When their lips connected, both of them closed their eyes and allowed the fireworks to explode. Kiyoomi’s lips were soft and fit perfectly on Atsumu’s, like pieces of the same puzzle. A gentle fire lightened up inside and started to make way through their bodies, warming every single part of them.

Atsumu never knew kissing someone could make him feel like he was floating.

Kiyoomi never knew touching someone could ever make him feel whole.

They parted for air but Atsumu soon was chasing Kiyoomi’s mouth again, needing more of him. He kissed him harder, pressing their mouths impossibly closer and cupping Kiyoomi’s jaw in both of his hands. He kissed Kiyoomi like he wanted to devour him like he couldn’t get enough of his intoxicating citric taste. Kiyoomi sighed into Atsumu’s mouth and gave in to his desires. There in their private place, there were no anxieties and no fears, only the presence of each other.

The kiss ended with one, two, three pecks later. Atsumu was out of breath but so was Kiyoomi. They opened their eyes slowly and Atsumu smiled when he realized Kiyoomi was still there. He dropped his forehead on Kiyoomi’s chest, being soothed by the erratic rhythm of his heart.

“You know this won’t be easy, right?” Kiyoomi’s voice was muffled by Atsumu’s hair.

Atsumu laughed and snuggled closer. “For ya, I can be patient.” He kissed Kiyoomi’s covered shoulder and looked at him again. “Besides, I think we can make this work, dontcha?”

“Yeah,” Sakusa smiled. “I think we can, ‘Tsumu.”

**Author's Note:**

> That's it!  
> Thank you for reading until the end
> 
> I'll probably talk more about this and other future works here [@caahsks](https://twitter.com/caahsks) so feel free to join ~


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